


songs of foolish regret

by littleheavens



Category: Wanna One (Band)
Genre: ??????????, Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, Friends to Lovers to Strangers to Friends to Lovers, IDK HOW TO TAG THSSSSSSSS, M/M, Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, OH and also:, Post-Break Up, Reconciliation, Slow Burn, alternatively: 2park are fools and their friends suffer, some nielwoon deephwi and onghwang on the side!, yep
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 13:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 18,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15931553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleheavens/pseuds/littleheavens
Summary: Life works in funny ways, Woojin decides when Park Jihoon suddenly shows up at his doorstep two years after they fell apart.





	1. you know where to find me

**Author's Note:**

> I KEEP EDITING THIS OVER AND OVER and just adding stuff and overthinking but you know what.... it's time to just send it into the world like it is... have fun and i apologize in advance!
> 
> suuuuper vaguely inspired by one of the short films from _'the girls on rela'_ , but i figured i'd mention it nonetheless.

****__** you know where to find me**  
  


_'cause we go a long way back_

_back to nothing at all_

_be still with me_

_— imogen heap_

 

 

The population of Seoul is approximately 9,798,000 people. Over 9.5 million lives, stories, wishes, and dreams.

 

It’s a busy place. A city with a history, with tales ending both good and bad. With stories of falling apart and coming back together.

 

It’s easy to be forgotten in a place like this. It’s easy to get lost.

 

Sometimes, it’s a good thing. Disappearing into the anonymity of the city can be a blessing, too.

 

Park Woojin has always loved Seoul, in a way. Sure, it does not compare to the salt water air of Busan, to home-cooked meals and warm hugs and the odd sense of constant familiarity he gets from being in his hometown. He _misses_ Busan, because it’s different but it’s home. And yet, he doesn’t mind getting lost in the streets of the metropole either.

 

In fact, he kind of lives for it — this anonymity. The fact he can do whatever he wants whenever he wants to. He loves walking around, taking the subway, looking and observing. Loves the healthy stress, the odd lull of laziness near the Han River, the bustling streets of Hongdae.

 

And even though life hadn’t turned out the way he had expected it to, he’s managing just fine. Going to college, hanging out with his friends, and _dancing_ most of all. His own dreams.

 

It’s not exactly a routine, because you never know when your next job as a dancer pops up and what kind of job it’s going to be, and you never know when college gets suddenly inexplicably rough.

 

Yet, there’s something steady about it all, a few fixed aspects of his life.

 

This is why Park Woojin really thought he’d never see Park Jihoon again. This is why he was convinced they’d never find each other again. Not after everything, not after closing that chapter and leaving it behind him with a dull ache in his heart. But they do meet again, and it’s both wonderful and awful at the same time.

 

It happens in the summer. This is how it goes:

 

The heat gets unbearable by the third day of his break and when Woojin checks the weather on his phone he finds himself wishing he was somewhere on the North Pole instead.

 

He has no air conditioning — the only fan to bring _some_ kind of relief in the apartment had been Daniel’s, who had moved out just two weeks ago to live with his fiancé — and he’d rather die than open his windows in this smog-filled city and let the heat in.

 

Luckily, it is set to rain sooner or later. The monsoon season isn’t as heavy this year as it usually is, but it’s enough. Until then, though, he keeps the windows closed, makes sure there’s a cold bottle of water in the fridge, and lazes around.

 

Being a college student living on his own isn’t the easiest thing in the world. Quite the contrary, actually. He got lucky, though, with his parents helping him out with his small apartment. It had been his aunt’s before she moved back to Busan. But he gets to live here now, and that gives him at least _some_ stability. It’s not the best, but it’s a lot more than it could have been. As long as he can hold his ground with all the other bills and additional costs, he’s all good.

 

And who knows, maybe his next roommate might be able to help to cover a bit of it all. Daniel had, and it had worked out just fine.

 

But as for now, he’s on his own. He’s alone in this small apartment in a terribly big city and at this very moment it kind of sucks. He reminds himself to not be lonely because this is what he chose. Sure thing, he has his friends who he cares about a lot, and who care about him too. He has a part-time job that he loves doing, and he’s still getting a degree on top of it all just in case his planned future as a dancer doesn’t work out.

 

He should be busy enough to not feel lonely. And while the apartment sometimes felt too small with Daniel around, it does almost feel too big now.

 

Must be the summer heat getting to him.

 

But he ignores it. He prepares for the next semester (more mentally than anything else), tries to choreograph whenever there’s room available at the dance studio he works at, lets Daehwi and Jaehwan drag him to Itaewon from time to time, convinces Jisung into buying him dinner, or has Daniel over for regular gaming sessions.

 

It’s one of the rare Fridays where Woojin has absolutely _nothing_ to do. There’s nothing to study or prepare for, the dance studio is holding some sort of business-related event he didn’t need to attend so it’s closed, and none of Woojin’s friends weren’t available to hang out. So, he lounges on his couch, watching reruns of an old drama, and tries to find solace in the little breeze that comes in through the windows he’s finally dared to open now that night has fallen.

 

Fatigue slowly creeps up to him, settles in his bones, makes his mind a little bit fuzzy. The faces on television start to blur in front of him and he’s about to let himself slip into a dreamless kind of sleep when there’s a sudden ruckus in the hallway.

 

Then, a soft, tentative knock on a door. _His_ door, he realizes after a moment.

 

Woojin sits up, thinking he’s imagined it. The couch under him creaks a little as he moves.

 

Another knock, a little louder this time. It’s not on television, it’s not his imagination.

 

He takes a quick glance at his phone on the table. No new notifications, his home screen reads. So it’s definitely none of his friends waiting for him in the corridor — they’d _always_ text beforehand.

 

Hesitantly, he walks to the door. A third knock — just as loud, but it sounds more… _hesitant_ than the first two. As if unsure, almost.

 

Woojin forces himself to snap out of it. He hasn’t got time to over-analyze the meaning of a simple _knock_ , so he breathes in and opens the door.

 

Only to want to close it again immediately, because _what the fuck_.

 

Jihoon is there. Park Jihoon, out of all people, at his doorstep. One single, red suitcase in his right hand, a backpack swung loosely over his shoulder. He, too, looks a little shocked to see Woojin actually answering the door. Like he can’t believe it’s _Woojin_ , out of all people, despite the fact he hasn’t moved apartments since the last time they saw each other.

 

(Since the last time Jihoon walked out of here, with the very same suitcase in his hands.)

 

The initial shock, the disbelief; it’s a mutual feeling, he supposes, although Woojin feels like he’s properly falling apart where Jihoon looks like he’s somewhat keeping it together.

 

He’s not sure what to do. He doesn’t know whether he wants to walk up to Jihoon and kiss him, or slam the door shut and pretend this is all a dream, or punch him in the face.

 

Because fuck if he didn’t miss him, but they also were each other’s first heartbreak.

 

“Hey,” Jihoon says softly. His voice is a little deeper than last time. He looks a little taller, a little broader, a little more firm. His hair is a few shades lighter than Woojin remembers it being. He looks a bit sweaty, probably from climbing the stairs. His hair is messy, unkempt, plastered against his forehead. And when Woojin meets his eyes, he notices they look tense, sad.

 

He notices fear, maybe some regret.

 

It’s nothing like the Jihoon he used to know. It makes Woojin’s blood run cold.

 

“Hi,” Woojin almost forgets to respond, needing a few seconds to find his voice. He’s not sure what to feel, and neither his brain or his heart are helping him even slightly.

 

What he feels, he recognizes as anger, as anxiety. He recognizes hurt and betrayal and most of all, disbelief. And a bit of longing, of wanting to wrap Jihoon in his arms and beg him… for what, he’s not too sure.

 

It’s almost comical, how Jihoon hasn’t even said why he’s here yet. 10 PM on a Friday night with probably everything he owns stored in two simple bags and his heart not entirely on his sleeve, but not entirely tucked away either.

 

Woojin waits for it. He waits for the wave of feelings he’s tried to get over. He waits for his resolve to crumble and for his walls to break. He waits so that when it happens, he can push it away, swallow it down.

 

Neither of them knows how long they stand there, just looking at each other. Taking each other in as if none of this could possibly be real.

 

Eventually, Jihoon clears his throat. He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and does one of his little half-smiles he always does when he’s feeling awkward or nervous. “I know that…. Uh… that it’s been a while,” he starts, and Woojin bites the inside of his cheek so hard he’s convinced he will be tasting blood soon.

 

“I know a lot happened, uh, between us? And there’s… a lot to say, I guess?”

 

The question in Jihoon’s voice — the doubts and uncertainty — make him sick to his stomach.  

 

Woojin just nods, with a million questions racing through his mind but no voice or strength to ask him. “What’s with the luggage?” is all he manages to bring out in the end. It comes out a little skeptical, he’s aware, but he’s scared that he might know where this is going.

 

“Oh, this?” the older boy responds, tugging at the strings of his backpack, readjusting them. He’s nervous, Woojin can tell. “It’s kind of a long story, I guess.”

 

Woojin tends to think of himself as a self-aware person. He’d like to think that he knows himself well enough, that he knows his strengths and weaknesses. That he knows what makes him tick, what drags him down. All these aspects about himself, he’s sure he knows.

 

And he used to know all of this about Jihoon too.

 

This is why he knows for sure that if he says the words lying on the tip of his tongue, he might be setting himself up for another heartbreak.

 

But he pointedly ignores the beating of his heart in his throat. He swallows, steps aside, and says, “ _Do you want to come in?_ ”


	2. close over

****** close over**

_the more i look at you, the more i miss you_

_the more i try to get closer, the farther away you get_

_so close yet so far, so close yet so far_

_— jeong sewoon_

 

 

 

Heartbreak is nothing easy to overcome. This is a simple fact, found in books on books, stories upon stories.

 

Heartbreak is for many reasons, too. For first loves, last loves, artificial loves. For friendships, for strangers, for soulmates. For all of those combined.

 

And heartbreaks tend to heal with time, is what they say. It’s what the novels and the books and proses say, so Woojin tells himself just that. It had been months, years without Jihoon. Two years, to be a bit more precise, and Woojin likes to think that he’s healed.

 

It’s not what his heart is telling him, though. It’s not what the bitterness on his tongue or the way his fists clench automatically tells him. Because before those two years, there was a friendship. And maybe, just maybe, there was love.

 

But he forces himself to believe it — tells himself that he’s had time, that he’s stronger.

 

Maybe he just needed a good excuse to justify letting Jihoon back inside his life. Whatever.

 

The very next day after Jihoon’s unexpected arrival, Woojin barely makes it out of the dance studio before his phone starts blowing up with a string of text messages from none other than Bae Jinyoung. Variations of ‘ _plz call me!!!!!!_ ’ and ‘ _omg WOOJIN it's like life important literally_ ’ in different levels of apparent distress fill up his screen one by one.

 

Heaving a sigh, he presses _call_ and brings the phone to his ear. It’s late afternoon, he’s had practice and classes to teach nearly the entire day and Jinyoung _knows_ that, so what in the world could possibly be this important?

 

Despite the initial distress, his best friend only picks up after the third ring. When he does, he doesn’t even bother greeting Woojin before launching into his monologue. It sounds urgent, like Jinyoung is carrying something huge on his shoulders.

 

“Woojin! Woojin. Woojin, listen, before you judge me please know that I talked about this to Minhyun hyung first and he told me he thought it was better not to tell you yet but I feel like as your best friend I should. It’s like… a part of the Bro Code, the Brode, if you will—”

 

The older boy sighs and rolls his eyes. “What is it, Jinyoung?”

 

Jinyoung swallows audibly on the other end of the line. “Please don’t get mad, okay?”

 

Briefly, Woojin takes a second to wonder what this is about. He can’t promise anything, alright? But he mumbles out a vague confirmation nonetheless, praying this isn’t Jinyoung bringing him the news he accidentally broke Woojin’s Xbox when he borrowed it last week.

 

What he hears instead, is this: “So, like… _Oh my god please_ don’t get mad, I didn’t know a lot about this beforehand either, okay! And don’t be mad at Minhyun for not wanting to tell you either, he’s just worried about you…” The younger starts rambling again, and Woojin is two seconds away from just hanging up on him, the potential state of his Xbox be damned.

 

“Just spit it out, Jinyoung,” Woojin deadpans, a little impatient. There must be something in his voice that gives away the vague hint of annoyance because Jinyoung stops mid-sentence.

 

“Okay… Uh. Yes. So…”

 

Woojin waits.

 

And then, “Jihoon is back in town.”

 

“Okay,” Woojin says slowly, “and?”

 

“What do you mean _‘and’_? Do you understand what I’m saying? He’s back, like, for good. I think.” The younger sounds genuinely baffled at the lack of reaction, and Woojin almost lets out a dry snort.

 

Bae Jinyoung, bless his soul. It’s a sweet gesture, he supposes.

 

“Um, well,” Woojin responds dryly, “I already knew he was back.”

 

Now, it’s Jinyoung’s turn to fall silent. Woojin just keeps walking, trying to measure the younger boy’s reaction over the sound of passing cars. The oncoming sunset is beautiful, peeking in between the buildings on his way home.

 

“How did you know? I mean…” Jinyoung starts again. He sounds nervous, a little scared. Woojin doesn’t blame him; all of their friends know how things had been between them, how things had _ended_ between them. “Did you see him?”

 

A big sigh is what Woojin grants him with. Because he knows what’s coming when he’ll tell Jinyoung. “He came to see me, actually.”

 

When Jinyoung doesn’t respond at the other end of the line, seemingly trying to form an appropriate response, Woojin decides to just go for full-on honesty.

 

Here goes nothing.

 

“He’s living with me again,” he adds, a little quieter than normal in hopes that maybe Jinyoung will understand. That maybe Jinyoung won’t freak out and tell him it’s a mistake, that he’s hurting himself.

 

“Excuse me? What?” And oh yes, there it is, followed by a deep sigh: “I’m coming to kick your ass.”

 

Bae Jinyoung does, in fact, not kick Woojin’s ass. Not literally, at least. But he does have a lot of questions. Ironic, considering he’s the one who kept in contact with Jihoon all this time.

 

“How?” is what he greets Woojin with when he enters the small cafe they’d agreed to meet up at. It’s not too far from the dance studio, and Jinyoung had been about two seconds away from barging into the middle of a lesson anyway, so let’s just say that he was in the neighborhood.

 

The older doesn’t grace him with an answer until he’s placed his usual order and found a comfortable booth to sit down in. “He showed up at my door last night,” Woojin says calmly, after taking a sip from his smoothie. The sweetness of it metaphorically dampens the bitterness of his words. “Said he wanted to talk.”

 

“And you let him?” Jinyoung says. “I mean, no offense, he’s my friend and all but—”

 

“I know, Jinyoung. I know. But he looked exhausted and needed a place to stay. Said his return was a last-minute decision.”

 

When he says it like that, Woojin realizes how unconvincing it actually sounds. Why, out of all people, would Jihoon come to _him_ , to _their_ old shared apartment? He knows where Jinyoung and Daehwi live, and he sure as hell still has his old friends from the theater department or their other mutual friends. Seoul is a big city, alright?

 

There must have been a reason, but Woojin doesn’t want to think too much about it. Or at all, actually. He tucks it away for later, regardless.

 

“How long will he be staying with you?” Jinyoung asks, and Woojin can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

 

The answer is that he doesn’t actually know. He doesn’t know because they haven’t, well, you know, actually talked about those things. About anything, actually. Whatsoever. So when he just shrugs in response, Jinyoung looks at him for a long time without saying anything. In the end, the younger boy heaves a long sigh. “I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into, Woojin.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I know.”

 

But he doesn’t think he really does.

 

* * *

  

Life goes on. Jihoon settles back in as much as he seems to allow himself to. A tentative toothbrush in the bathroom cup holder, next to Woojin’s. Clothes unfolded in the closet Daniel left behind when he moved out. The menu of their favorite chicken delivery restaurant on the edge of the tiny kitchen island.

 

He buys them a new fan. The apartment starts feeling a lot nicer.

 

It happens in a way that seems almost natural. Big emphasis on _natural_ , bigger emphasis on _almost_. Because nothing about this is how things should be, probably. Nothing about this is like them; it’s only a weak spark of what they used to be.

 

Park Woojin and Park Jihoon. Two boys and one single story, one that tied them together and broke them apart. It was bound to happen.

 

Woojin doesn’t think there should be anything to regret about it. After all, things happen for a reason. Both of them had dreams they wanted to follow and chances they needed to take in order to follow those dreams. But it still hurt when it happened.

 

They’d met in high school — _junior year_ — when Woojin transferred schools. He’d never been a quiet kid before, never let his anxieties get the best of him. Not until then, at least. But the new environment and his chaotic brain had lured him into over thinking, into turning in on himself.

 

It had been Jihoon’s friends who had approached him, who had asked him questions and helped him get around. And then there had been Jihoon; seemingly a bit apprehensive at first, but quickly turning into what almost felt like what soulmates should feel like. They became close as Woojin blossomed, revealed himself. Jihoon laughing at his antics, joining in when he could. Two best friends attached to the hip.

 

Close, closer, _closest_ ; it’s who they were, who they became. So when they got into nearby universities in Seoul, there was no doubt they would move in together. Woojin, despite his own dreams, taking up a “decent” major like his parents wanted. Jihoon, on the other hand, got into a Modern Arts college. Different paths but they’d still be together, and that had been the only thing that had counted.

 

It had worked out, for a little while. And then, as always, life had gotten in the way.

 

What they had shared had been hopeful. He almost wants to call it love. He doesn’t remember how their first kiss happened, he just knows many more had followed after that. An unspoken agreement, never the question of _what are we_ needing to be asked because they had known. Unspoken forevers, unfulfilled promises.

 

They were Park Jihoon and Park Woojin, and they had the entire future ahead of them until they didn’t.

 

Best friends had rapidly become near-strangers. He can’t pinpoint when it happened or why it did. But when Jihoon had gotten the news about an overseas acting scholarship, Woojin had just let him go without solving the things that needed to be solved first. He never would have stopped him, let’s establish that, but he wishes they could have parted ways without some kind of lingering bitterness to it all. 

 

He hadn't kept in touch on purpose. Didn't follow him on any social media, didn't message him, didn't check what he was up to. Their friends did, and Woojin sometimes heard the other being brought up in conversation, but seeking him out just  _hurt_   _too much_. Even after it stopped hurting, he didn't try, figuring he should leave the past in the past.

 

Now, two years later, the night Jihoon came back to him had been almost the same as the night he’d left. There’s the same kind of tension, but this time there’s more hurt, more history despite the gap. Everything is different but at the same time nothing has changed at all.

 

Woojin had let Jihoon back in knowing it could ( _would_ ) backfire. So, he built his walls up, higher than they’ve ever been. He never had to around Jihoon before, and it stings.

 

It was an earnest offer, though, when Jihoon looked like he needed a place to come home to for a while. They had lived together before anyway, knew each other’s quirks and habits. Besides, Woojin had a vacant room anyway. Damn it, Daniel.

 

But things would get better, right? They have to, _right_?

 

But before he knows it it’s been a week and it’s still a little suffocating. They hadn’t actually talked about _those things_ , instead unanimously opting for quiet and unspoken normalcy, for friends just catching up after a long time. Like there were never any _feelings_ involved that went mostly unexplored and not talked about until it was too late to do so. Like they didn’t completely ignore each other for nearly twenty-four excruciating months.

 

When the older boy sat on his couch that day, tense frame and arms clinging onto his backpack, Woojin thought he’d recognized a spark of his old best friend. It feels like the Jihoon at his door had been a stranger, but Woojin quickly started to recognize who the person in front of him is again and what he'd meant to him before everything went wrong.

 

So, instead of saying “Why did we fall apart?” Woojin had asked, “ _How was life in the USA?_ ”

 

“It was good! Just… not what I wanted, I guess.”

 

And before he’d gotten the chance to ask another stupid, selfish question, such as ' _why didn’t you just come back, then?_ ’ Jihoon had smiled and asked him about his own life, what he’d been doing.

 

“Still dancing and going to college and not much else. I’m supposed to finish my psychology degree soon, and I’m still doing some choreographing and backup dancing on the side.”

 

Jihoon had smiled, thrown him a careful comment about how ‘ _it’s good to hear you’re doing well’_ , and that had been that.

 

* * *

 

One night near the end of the summer, Woojin’s practice ends earlier than expected. One of the other dancers had taken a wrong turn and twisted his ankle, and they’d been dismissed in order to get him properly treated. Even though he would much rather have stayed to help where he could, he knew it was no use arguing.

 

He doesn’t want to go home just yet though.

 

So, he takes the long way home, passes by the corner store where Guanlin works at to pick up two cups of ramen noodles and then proceeds to spend a good thirty minutes catching up with the younger. When he leaves, he lets the minimal breeze caress his cheeks as he walks through the humid night air.

 

It’s barely even eleven when he gets home, and despite knowing he needs to unwind and get some rest before practice unapologetically continues tomorrow, he’s not very tired yet.

 

Jihoon isn’t home, out to auditions or rehearsals or whatever it is he’s been doing since he got back, so Woojin only makes one cup and settles on the couch, flipping through the television channels. He starts to feel a little sleepy after dinner but tells himself to finish watching this drama rerun at least. Maybe the other boy will be back by then.

 

It feels vaguely familiar. Something in Woojin’s head is telling him this isn’t the good kind.

 

Before he gets to think too much about it, the lock clicks and Jihoon walks in, looking exhausted but lively at the same time.

 

He seems to do a double take at Woojin on the couch, a blanket draped over him and eyes half-closed. He smiles brightly at the younger and walks up behind the couch to see what Woojin is watching.

 

His presence feels warm — too warm — so Woojin says, “I was too lazy to cook. There are cup noodles in the cabinet.”

 

( He does not say: _It’s the spicy kind that you like._ )

 

“Thanks,” Jihoon says earnestly before dragging himself to the tiny kitchen. Silence fills the apartment again except for the sounds of boiling water and the woman on tv wailing in heartbreak, begging the male character to just come back. Ironic.

 

“Since when do you stay up this late,” Jihoon asks some time later when he joins Woojin on the other sofa. The episode had just ended and Woojin feels about three seconds away from passing out. Jihoon sounds genuinely curious though, and somehow the question hurts. It takes all of Woojin’s willpower to not throw a bitter remark in the form of an answer.

 

It is a _dumb_ question. It’s a normal question, he supposes, but a dumb one nonetheless. Woojin feels the pang in his chest and tries not to _literally_ clutch at his heart.

 

He was never an early sleeper, let’s get that straight, but staying awake until well into the middle of the night had never been his thing either. At least, not until Jihoon had started coming home closer to morning than evening. Woojin would wait up, trying to get some revision done or scroll through his phone mindlessly. He’d lost count of the times he’d woken up in the mornings with a sore neck, having fallen asleep on the couch while waiting for the other to come home.

 

Sometimes, he would wake up having been safely covered with a blanket. But other times, Jihoon would just crawl onto the couch beside him, settling in his embrace, trying to spend the tiny bit of time they had together, together.

 

He hadn’t minded. It hadn’t been the best, but it had been easier.

 

He remembers the night Jihoon left and hadn’t returned, too. A long three months of tension never exploding, but instead simmering down, dissolving. Their friends had always referred to them as explosive, in a way. Loud, unapologetic. Chaos. With a bang. Because that’s simply what they were: the constantly bickering best friends, always up to something.

 

Their falling out had been nothing compared to that.

 

It had been silence. An empty apology. An empty home.

 

It had been Jihoon on the plane to Los Angeles and no idea when — or _if_ — they’d ever see each other again.

 

“It became a habit,” Woojin just responds flatly after he notices he’s been quiet for a bit too long.

 

He didn’t mean for it to happen, but the tone of voice had a bit of bite to it, regardless. Mission failed, he guesses. Woojin only realizes this when he sees the other boy slightly flinch. His face falls, only briefly, before he puts a smile back on his face and nods.

 

Life hadn’t stopped when Jihoon walked out of that door. It’s nothing but the truth.

 

What happens next makes Woojin briefly wish he wasn’t so good with body language, that he wasn’t so good with reading Jihoon specifically even after all this time. That he didn’t recognize it so clearly. Ignorance is bliss, and all that. Because Jihoon slightly curls into himself in the same way he used to do, too.

 

It tells him that he’s upset about something, even though he’s looking at Woojin with a faint smile on his lips.

 

Woojin suddenly thinks the accidental bitterness to his tone wasn’t the only thing that caused it. He realizes his answer might have told Jihoon exactly what the other boy needed to know: it’s because of you.

 

It’s not what he meant, certainly not. But he doesn’t bother to correct it either.

 

When the older sits across from him like that, in silence and discomfort, fiddling with the hem of his shirt, Woojin sees it. He sees him, just briefly. It takes him back to three and a half years ago — two kids full of hopes and dreams, an entire future ahead of them, an unspoken forever. It flashes him to the college years with their friendship being strong enough but hanging by a single loose thread at the same time. The realization that not all dreams come true and that sacrifices have to be made to even try to go in the right directions.

 

The reality that this was going to happen, eventually. That they that’d have to leave each other, because their dreams didn’t match, weren’t what they expected them to be. Because when worse came to worst, they couldn’t have each other anymore.

 

( _“There’s, uh... mail for Jihoon,” Guanlin had still told him after the third week, when he came over to visit._

 

_Woojin had scoffed but never offered anything else. He had run out of things to say, anyway. “Just put it on the pile.”_

 

 _Jihoon’s mail stopped being delivered to their apartment a week later._ )

 

But before Jihoon packed up his shit and left to do what he had to do, there was a bit of paradise, a sliver of hope. Even despite their occasional fights, the buildup, the beginning of the end.

 

“Sorry,” Jihoon says out of the blue, breaking through the silence and, in turn, through Woojin’s thought process.

 

It’s not just an apology for the question he’d asked and what the answer had implied, he can tell just from the way he’s looking at Woojin.

 

Something blooms in his chest at the words, but it isn't love this time. It’s not happiness or relief.

 

It’s a pang of resentment, of bitterness. It’s saying too late for that now, even though rationally Woojin knows it’s what he chose to do, it’s what he had consciously gotten himself into. It’s both of their faults.

 

He hadn’t wanted to hurt Jihoon, especially not with something as insignificant as staying up late. And he knows, rationally, that they need to talk, that he has a lot to apologize for too.

 

But it’s been a long day. He’s tired, and the person who he thought was the love of his life is sitting right in front of him looking heartfelt and ready to let his feelings out in the open for the first time since the night he arrived. Rationality is out of the question, tonight at least.

 

So he just gets up from the couch, throws a weak smile at Jihoon, and says, “Yeah, me too”, before leaving the room and going to bed.


	3. cave me in

******cave me in**

_love has got you mad about or just about mad_

_got you in a crush or it's got you in a crash_

_— tablo, gallant, eric nam_

 

A cold atmosphere in summer heat; there is no other way to describe it.

 

Woojin is still waiting for the ice to break.

 

“So, how are things between you?” Daehwi asks him on a Sunday night, the day before his first lecture of the new semester. His arms are wrapped around a glass of lemonade, the sun is setting.

 

Woojin shrugs and chews on a fry he stole off Daehwi’s plate. “We’re not really speaking all that much.”

 

“Oh. But…. you live together.”

 

A shrug. “Maybe, but it’s not like that. He just lives in my apartment.”

 

“Damn,” Daehwi muses for a second before he drinks again. He looks at Woojin with something akin to worry in his eyes. “Kick him out, then.”

 

Woojin snorts, genuinely. He knows this just goes beyond Jihoon living with him again. Daehwi was the first one to see it all fall apart, the one Woojin went to first when his insecurities got to him. He was on the front row, watching a story unfold he couldn't do anything about. The perks of being lifelong friends. Or disadvantages, Woojin supposes. “It’s fine, Daehwi, seriously.”

 

Is it fine? He tells himself it is. He and Jihoon hadn’t spoken all that much since that one night a few weeks ago, only the mandatory _hello_ ’s and _good night_ ’s. Sometimes even a ‘ _have you eaten?_ ’ but nothing beyond that.

 

Woojin’s been holed up in the dance studio anyway, trying to finish some stuff before he goes back to college and needs to divide his time between studying and dancing again. It’s grilling, it’s _tiring_ , his muscles hurt and sometimes he finds himself wishing he could come home to Jihoon’s open arms.

 

But it’s _fine_.

 

Across from him, Daehwi raises an eyebrow. His hair has an orange tint in the reflection of the dusk. He’d rather talk about that, but the younger is persistent. “That’s what you told Jinyoung too, and just because he seems to believe you doesn’t that mean I have to. What even _happened_ for it to get like this in the first place?”

 

Woojin shrugs. “We just… stopped communicating. It was like living with a stranger instead of my best friend.” Daehwi coughs at the words  _best friend_. Jihoon pointedly ignores it. “And then he came back and we didn’t talk either and suddenly he said _sorry_ , like… I don’t know.”

 

Daehwi hums for a moment, lost in his thoughts.

 

For a moment, Woojin wonders if he’s giving them a hard time. Bae Jinyoung and Lee Daehwi have been together since long before the _thing_ between him and Jihoon could even be considered as a thing at all. They share everything with each other, but even then, they are also Woojin’s best friends. And Jihoon’s, too. Well, _were_ , he supposes for the latter, considering Daehwi has deemed Park Jihoon his Mortal Enemy #1 after The Big 2Park Fallout (his own words, not Woojin’s).

 

Perhaps, Jihoon is dealing with the same problem. He has no doubt the older has his own confidants about their little situation. Their seniors, Minhyun and Seongwoo, have always been reliable people. But much like Jinyoung, Minhyun is stuck in the middle. Seongwoo doesn’t get involved, always refused to do so, but Woojin knows he’s awfully close to Jihoon, closer than he ever was to Woojin.

 

And that’s fine, alright? But the cold war-eqsue silence waging between them now is _their own_ business, not anyone else’s. And truly, the last thing he wants is for this to get bigger than it needs to be. He’d rather avoid friends like Jisung showing up at his doorstep tomorrow and force them to talk it out. They can handle it.

 

“It’s just a little awkward between us now. Really, Daehwi, please don’t worry.”

 

The younger scrunches his nose and pouts at him.

 

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” Woojin’s voice is softer than he intended it to be, but Daehwi gives him a tiny smile and nods in understanding. He’s been saying that an awful lot lately. Daehwi, stubborn as he can be, would never push Woojin. Not when he doesn’t feel like he really _has_ to. “I’ll be okay.”

 

“Fine,” he concludes then, before rubbing his hands together, a sign that he’s letting Woojin off the hook ( _for now_ ). Woojin is grateful.

 

“Fine then, but you’re paying for my ice cream tonight.” He gets up and doesn’t even wait for Woojin to finish his own drink and follow him out. “I heard the parlor near the university building is trying out new flavors!”

 

* * *

 

The new semester starts mercilessly and it takes less than four days for Woojin to get swept up in the exhausting routine that comes with going to college. He’s exhausted already, telling himself he needs to take it slow. Breathe.

 

He loves what he studies, contrary to a lot of his friends who had switched majors too often to count. He got lucky, too, picking a course his parents seemed to be proud of as well. Psychology isn’t the easiest, but Woojin finds it genuinely interesting, so he doesn’t mind.

 

The one priority was always dancing, though. Had been for as long as he can remember. His parents know this too. But they had settled for a middle ground: as long as Woojin is getting a degree to fall back on, it is fine.

 

But it’s busy. Almost too busy, and he needs to keep his head up high if he wants to graduate in one piece. He needs to focus, but he’s determined to not get lost and to find a balance between school and dancing and friends.

 

And so, life goes on.

 

Routine comes easy, and Woojin goes with the flow despite stress and anxiety gnawing at him in the back of his mind.

 

He doesn’t like talking about it. The only person who got to see this side of him had been Jihoon. It came with living together, that much is true, but they had always relied on each other regardless.

 

And it’s not like he had started repressing after it, no. He had Daehwi, he had Jinyoung and Minhyun and Daniel to talk about these things with. He had Jisung, who so many of their friends relied on. They helped him too, they listened. But they hadn’t been Jihoon.

 

Except now Jihoon is back, closer in proximity than ever, and it’s just suffocating because it’s just not the _same_. But then again, how could it be?

 

Their so-called cold war hadn’t exactly ended. Woojin isn’t even sure if that what it should be called, but decides to go with it anyway. They’re still not speaking like they had been the first few days after Jihoon had gotten back — too tired of pretending things were fine between them, like it could go back to how it was years ago, but too scared to do anything about it.

 

Woojin doesn’t really fight it, knows better than that.

 

The first glimpse at normalcy, at _hope_ , comes on a Saturday night.

 

The apartment complex Woojin lives in has a shared laundry room in the basement level. Woojin likes it when it’s quiet, not because he’s anti-social and doesn’t like his neighbors, but because doing laundry has been weirdly therapeutic for him. A moment for himself.

 

He waits until night has long since fallen before assembling his things and taking the stairs down. He quickly locks his door even though it shouldn’t be a long trip. Better safe than sorry.

 

He got lucky tonight, because it _is_ quiet. Even better: the room is vacant except for one of the machines being in use. He quickly hoards the other one, puts in his clothes, and plops down on the battered couch as he waits. He doesn’t like leaving his laundry unattended even though it’s unlikely someone is interested in stealing some old and overworn shirts from his dance company, but it’s not like he has anything better to do. So he just waits, lets the smell of laundry detergent surround him, gets lost in the nothingness. It’s quite a sad sight, probably.

 

Too engrossed in his attempt to beat Jinyoung in a mobile game of 8-ball, he fails to notice the other presence in the room.

 

It’s a public area, yet Jihoon lingers at the door shyly. He clears his throat and Woojin jumps up, accidentally fucking up his move and sending the ball on his screen flying to the opposite side. He sighs, sends it back to Jinyoung with a string of angry emojis, and looks up to meet Jihoon’s gaze.

 

“I— uh… forgot to bring the spare key you gave me when I left this morning. I was gonna call you but I hoped you’d be here,” he says sheepishly. He licks his lips, a sign he’s nervous. “Glad to see I was right.”

 

“Haha… yeah.”

 

Yeah? _Yeah_ ? This is the most Jihoon has said to him in over a week and somehow this is all Woojin can say in return. It’s not like he _liked_ this unspoken _whatever_ it was they had going, but he could appreciate the silence nonetheless no matter how suffocating it could get to be in the same room. It gave him time to think, to sort out what he feels about Jihoon being back, being _here_.

 

And no, he hasn’t reached a conclusion yet. But it’s the thought that counts.

 

“Do you mind waiting for a bit?” Woojin says after a little bit, Jihoon still standing in the doorway, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. “It’s almost done. I’ll just hang them up outside on the balcony so I don’t need to wait for the dryer. It’s getting late, anyway.”

 

The other boy looks at him. He blinks once, twice. Then, he nods and walks over to sit on the couch next to Woojin.

 

He belatedly realizes he could have just given Jihoon his key. He doesn’t say anything about it, though, and neither does Jihoon.

 

It’s familiar, but it’s not. They used to do this together all the time. It was something that was  _theirs_ , no matter how sadly mundane it sounds. No matter how busy they got, they went to do their laundry together. It was me-time, except it was _us_.

 

Then, they started taking turns.

 

In the end, Woojin just ended up doing his alone.

 

It took a while for him to be able to sit on this very couch and not think about the number of times they’d started a whole makeout session there, or the hushed conversations they’d had while waiting for their laundry to be done. He still thought about it from time to time, but as time passed it stopped lingering.

 

So this is where they are now. Under the artificial light of a quiet laundry room somewhere in Seoul, two boys sitting together side by side. Years of history behind them and no idea what is ahead of them. Weeks of silence, of tiptoeing around each other. Woojin is tired of it, tired of pretending like he’s fine with this current predicament. He’s the one who started it, so by good tradition of their conflicts, the one to start it should be the one to end it, too.

 

He takes a deep breath. “Anyway, how’s life?”

 

Jihoon tears his gaze away from where he was intently staring at the washing machine to look at Woojin curiously, cautiously. “It’s been… okay. It’s weird, being back in Korea. But I’m fine.”

 

Woojin hums. The machine beeps, and he gives the other boy a quick nod before getting up and collecting his laundry. When he gets up, basket in hand, he motions his hand at Jihoon to signal him he’s going upstairs.

 

“Can you help me for a second?” he says when they’ve gotten back, Woojin clutching the basket with his pile of half-dry clothes. “Gotta hang these up outside.”

 

The balcony is tiny, but enough to fit two people. The Seoul sky greets them, even though it’s overcast. “It might rain soon, plus I’m not sure if clothes even dry at night?” Jihoon says carefully, but Woojin shakes his head and shrugs it off. “I’m not going back to get it dried unless I want to fall asleep there.”

 

They hang up Woojin’s clothes on the makeshift drying rack he managed to get from a second-hand student sale, hoping they’ll be dry by morning so he can iron them before practice. He’s not counting on it, but he can always hope.

 

He notices Jihoon is holding one of his shirts particularly long, staring at it before hanging it up. When he looks at the older curiously, he notices a blush creep up on his cheeks. “You still have this?” Jihoon asks, pointing at a dark purple shirt.

 

It takes a second to sink in, but then Woojin realizes it’s a shirt Jihoon gave him for Christmas once. The last one they’d spent together.

 

“Of course I do,” he answers, “Why wouldn’t I?”

 

Jihoon shrugs, looking a little flustered. Woojin decides not to follow up, and they don’t say anything to each other until they’re done hanging up the stuff and Jihoon leans against the railing and gazes at Woojin.

 

They’re both aware of the lack of distance between them, but neither of them makes an attempt to move away first.

 

Jihoon’s eyes still sparkle the same way they used to. Woojin tries not to flinch.

 

It feels… oddly domestic.

 

“How have _you_ been?” Jihoon asks him eventually. His tone is soft, tentative. His eyes never leaving Woojin’s. It’s like he doesn’t want to ask the wrong questions anymore, and when Woojin looks at him he feels like he’s about five seconds away from letting a string of apologies slip from his tongue, giving his heart away with it.

 

He swallows it up. Not now.

 

But in the darkness with nothing but the distant city lights around them, he feels like he can be a little honest. “I don’t know. School’s tiring me out already,” he says with a breathless, empty laugh.

 

He doesn’t know what makes him continue. It might be the setting, the proximity. It might be the atmosphere of odd familiarity. “I’m stuck in a place where I’m not sure what I want anymore. I like psychology, and career-wise it’s a lot more secure than dancing. But... ” he trails off.

 

“It’s not _dancing_?” Jihoon finishes for him, and the younger nods.

 

“You have time to decide. You have a backup plan, you have someplace to go. I never wanted anything other than acting. I don’t have a backup plan if all else fails.”

 

Woojin smiles at that. It’s true, but it doesn’t make it any easier. Still, he feels more reassured than he has in weeks. It might just be familiarity. “You’re doing well too, though.”

 

The older boy puffs his cheeks and smiles shyly. “I mean, I guess so. I even have an IMDB profile now and everything.”

 

Woojin snorts at that, and doesn’t fail to miss the twinkle in Jihoon’s eyes before turning his gaze to the skies above them.

 

“It was lonely, though. I don’t know how I managed to even let one semester turn into _two years_. I don’t think they wanted me to leave, and it was all super last minute, but…” he trails off, not finishing his sentence but heaving a sigh instead.

 

Silence envelopes them again, but it’s worlds away from last week. It’s worlds away from _ten minutes ago_ , even. It almost feels like home. Almost. Not quite yet, but standing side by side, looking at the city around them, it feels somewhat right.

 

“I’m just glad to be back,” Jihoon says quietly, like some afterthought he didn’t expect to say out loud.

 

His own words seem to come as a shock to him, Woojin notices when he glances over. He feels the warmth bloom in his chest regardless. He can’t help it when he looks at Jihoon, looks at how the tiny kitchen light is illuminating his face, and allows himself to let his guard down.

 

“I’m glad you’re back, too.”

 

* * *

 

The thing about growing up is that things change, people change. Relationships change. New boundaries. New dreams. New territories.

 

Jihoon never got better at _timing_ , though.

 

“Oh, sorry for walking in earlier this afternoon. I didn’t know you would be home,” he says when he enters the kitchen. His afternoon class got unexpectedly canceled and Daniel had come over to play some games and pick up some stuff he’d forgotten. He hadn’t gotten a chance for it yet, too busy settling in with Sungwoon.

 

Woojin shrugs as he pours himself a glass of water. He’d just gotten back from a late practice and needs a second to remember what this might be about. “Oh… ‘S fine. Don’t worry about it.”

 

Jihoon lives here now, anyway. Has been for a while now, actually. Long enough for them to be considered _friends_ again. So.

 

It’s quiet for a second. And then Jihoon clears his throat awkwardly. “I didn’t know you were seeing someone,” he adds sheepishly and Woojin’s last ounce of rationality gets smashed into pieces right there and then. It’s a miracle the glass in his hand survives.

 

He tells himself, _Daniel and Jihoon haven’t really caught up since he got back, he’s just assuming_. But he also tells himself that _this is bait_ , that this is the most Jihoon-esque way to get Woojin to open up more and more. Why it is about his dating life, he’s not too sure and he doesn’t want to think about it, either.

 

He gives in, regardless. “Who? Daniel? No way, he’s like… engaged.” He pauses. “But not to me.” Sungwoon would laugh if he heard this.

 

Jihoon raises his eyebrow, a little skeptical. But Woojin knows him, time doesn’t change these things; he thinks he spots a vague glimpse of relief in the other boy’s eyes.

 

It makes his heart flutter.

 

It makes him a little angry, too.

 

But he can’t help but pry. So, “What about you?”

 

Jihoon bites his lip and Woojin watches, observes, waits.

 

“Nope,” he says eventually, “not in a long time.” And with the way his eyes find Woojin’s and pin him down in place, the message is clear.


	4. back 2 u

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _warning_ for a tiny little bit of alcohol and for Feelings Under Influence. also for ong seongwoo being rightfully passing aggressive!

**back 2 u**

_i know we’ll be together, right_

_i know even if you don’t say it_

_come to me_

_pull me into your arms_

_— the boyz_

  


Just because things are kind of out in the open, even if they haven’t been _explicitly_ mentioned, doesn’t mean they are safe to explore. Explicitly mentioning them would mean they’re being spoken into existence. That they’re real and there to be acknowledged.

 

Anyone with a rational mindset knows this.

 

So they don't bring up any feelings, don't acknowledge any sort of tension. They don't talk about it.

 

But something fundamentally changed between them after that night on the balcony. Woojin starts waiting for Jihoon again. They do their laundry together. They cook together, and if they don't they leave leftovers for the other to eat. 

 

Jihoon forces Woojin to watch a movie with him every Friday, if their schedule permits it.

 

They start talking again, they start texting again. About day-to-day things, about life and friends and funny stories. They start being something akin to  _friends_ again, even. Jihoon grows more comfortable being around him again, and it shows. 

 

It's different than when he'd just gotten back. Almost as if the  _edge_ got taken off, like it's more comfortable for both of them to be around each other again. Woojin thinks of when he learned about the process of desensitization during one of his lectures. It makes sense, he supposes. Even after the strange conversation about Daniel and Sungwoon and _love_  the other day, things didn't escalate. 

 

But despite all of this, despite the general feeling of  _normalcy,_ he still can't stop  _thinking_. He still can't stop  _feeling_. 

 

And if Woojin is shit at dealing with his feelings, so is Jihoon. Even more than him, actually.

 

Add some alcohol to that mix and,  _boom_ , here’s the ultimate recipe for disaster.

 

Woojin gets the call right as he’s about to turn off the tv and go to sleep. It’s no use waiting up at all; he has classes in the morning and Jihoon is out with his theatre friends celebrating his _welcome home_ about a month too late.

 

“Hey Woojin,” Seongwoo says as soon as Woojin presses _answer_ , “I’m dealing with a little situation here.” He knows it’s related to Jihoon, purely judging from the fact he knows Seongwoo still hangs out with his university juniors and that he clearly just heard the other boy scream _ONGIEEEEE_ in the background.

 

He snorts beside himself, but there’s no mirth in it. He’s tired, but he knows where this is going. “You want me to come pick him up?”

 

“Yeah, that’d be great, thanks. I’ll text you the address? It’s not too far away.”

 

“Sure,” Woojin answers, already reaching for a clean-ish shirt that he flung on the chair after he got home. He’ll just keep his sweatpants on. Seongwoo hangs up, and less than thirty seconds later he receives a notification that says _Ong Seongwoo has shared their location with you._

 

He texts back a quick “ _please have him outside, i’m not coming in_ ” before pocketing his phone. He hopes the buzzing in his pocket is a confirmation, but he doesn’t bother checking.

 

Luckily for the both them, Seongwoo wasn’t lying. The restaurant they’re staying at is only four blocks and less than a ten minute walk away. Jihoon’s eyes visibly light up when he sees Woojin approach with a light jog. “ _Woojinie… my Woojin,_ ” he starts, untangling himself from Seongwoo’s hold to keep him steady. The younger boy shivers. He hasn’t heard Jihoon call him that in years.

 

The look on Seongwoo’s face is hard to decipher as he looks between the two boys, but he says nothing as he steadies Jihoon and meets Woojin halfway.

 

“Jesus,” Woojin mutters as Jihoon leans forward and clings onto him immediately, “How much did he have?”

 

Seongwoo shrugs. “I dunno. He’s a big boy.”

 

The other seems… a bit ticked off? Aloof with him? So far as not getting involved, he supposes. But maybe it’s because he deserves it. He doesn’t know what Jihoon confides in him with, after all. That would be Minhyun, but it’s not his place to pry.

 

“Right,” Woojin deadpans, trying to free himself from Jihoon’s grasp. “I’ll get him home safely.”

 

He ignores the low whine Jihoon makes when Woojin steps away from him, only keeping him up by his left arm. Seongwoo looks at them and gives Woojin a tiny smile despite the general feeling of annoyance not entirely fading. “He talked a lot about you tonight,” he says low enough that only Woojin can hear it, “please sort yourselves out, yeah?”

 

Not knowing what to say to that, he dumbly nods back and swallows. “I’ll text you when I’m home.”

 

Seongwoo waves them off before disappearing back inside, leaving Woojin with a more-than-tipsy Jihoon at his side and a whirlwind of feelings raging through his heart, his brain, his stomach.

 

“Are you taking me home?” Jihoon asks, obviously trying his hardest to sound sober. He wiggles his eyebrows awkwardly, and Woojin feels his cheeks heat up a little.

 

“Yeah,” he answers, ignoring Jihoon’s implications even though they don’t make sense in the first place. “Can you walk, or would you rather I call a taxi?”

 

It seems like it’s a tough question for Jihoon to answer, considering he looks like Woojin just asked him about the secrets of the universe. He sighs, gently pulling the older boy by his arm. “Let’s walk. Get you some fresh air.”

 

Jihoon obliges, mumbling something about how he just _loves air_. He stumbles a little, but it’s not as bad as Woojin initially thought it would be. It gets easier after a few steps.

 

He has seen Jihoon in every state before. At his best, his highs, and at his worst lows. Nothing should be surprising anymore, not after years of friendship despite the rift between them, not even after so many things changed.

 

Which is why he’s a little bit surprised when Jihoon, who has tried his best to keep his distance, tried his best to not get too close despite his words contradicting the caution in his actions, shrugs off the hand on his arm, looks at Woojin, and reaches for his hand instead.

 

He decides not to think too much about it and doesn’t argue.

 

Jihoon wordlessly entwines their fingers. Woojin feels like his heart is trying to leap out of his chest.

 

The other boy was never a heavy drinker. And _sure_ , he supposes, this isn’t even much compared to what he’d seen with college students, but it’s unlike Jihoon nonetheless.

 

It’s none of his business, though, he decides. It must have been the fact he was having a good time with friends he hadn’t seen in a long time. And as long as Jihoon is fine and doesn’t puke all over the couch and the carpet later, it should be fine. Right?

 

_Right?_

 

Woojin’s initial plan was to get him home in one piece and then proceed to ignore everything he just felt in the last half hour. His plan was to quietly slip past Jihoon and into his own room, hop into the shower because he’s sweaty again, as usual. Go to bed and try not to think about the weird aching in his heart, as usual.

 

But Jihoon marches towards the couch as soon as Woojin unlocks the front door and sits down, looking straight at him. His eyes are a little glazed over, but there’s still a sharp kind of focus in his gaze that only Jihoon can manage. It looks like some air  _did_ do him good. “Your _shirt_ ,” he starts, pointing a finger at Woojin’s chest.

 

“Hm?” Woojin manages back, heading to the kitchen to get Jihoon a glass of water.

 

“It’s  _our_ shirt. Remember?”

 

At Jihoon’s words, Woojin looks down at the shirt he’d haphazardly thrown on before going to pick up Jihoon. And he’s right, it is that shirt. It brings him back to the balcony a few weeks ago, the conversation where everything started to feel alright again. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just hums in response.

 

“HEY! You’re not talking to _meeeee_ ,” Jihoon whines, letting himself fall backward when Woojin walks over to him.

 

“I’m sorry,” Woojin says, and he means it.

 

He feels ridiculously selfish. He feels selfish because he brings Jihoon the glass of water right as the older sits up again. He feels selfish because he lets Jihoon pin him down with _that_ gaze, his eyes telling him a thousand secrets he can’t seem to unravel.

 

He feels selfish because instead of accepting the glass in Woojin’s hands, Jihoon brings his hand up, brushes his thumbs across Woojin’s jaw, combs his fingers through his hair. It’s a gentle gesture, an intimate one. It’s the closest they’ve been in so long.

 

He feels selfish because he lets it happen.

 

Closing his eyes, he tries to ignore the anxious beating of his heart. He tries to ignore how every nerve in his body is telling him that _you’re in love, Woojin, you never fell out of love, you never even tried to fight it._

 

 _“You're a puppy,”_ Jihoon mutters absentmindedly.

 

“Hmm?” Woojin snaps out of his thoughts and tries not to meet Jihoon’s piercing eyes. He leans back just a little and puts the water on the table.

 

The younger boy is grinning at him, hand still moving through his locks. “You look like a puppy. Your eyes…” he trails off, smile faltering a little. The movement in Woojin’s hair comes to a halt as Jihoon seems to realize what he’s doing.

 

It happens at the speed of light, his actions going quicker than any possible rationality he might have left. Jihoon retreats his hand, and before Woojin can do anything else, he reaches out for it.

 

He swallows, entwines their fingers again in the same way they did earlier. He’s not sure why he did or what he wants to say. “Why aren’t things the same?” Jihoon asks him then, his voice a whisper, sounding lost as he looks at their hands together.

 

“I don’t know, Hoonie. I don’t know. It’s hard to be friends with you.” Deep down he knows this causes room for misunderstanding, but Jihoon is tipsy and Woojin is exhausted for more reasons than just a long day of school and practice and having to pick up Jihoon.

 

“Is it?”

 

“Yeah. But we’re trying, aren’t we?”

 

Jihoon is straight up sulking now, but he nods regardless. “I wish…” he says slowly, “we can forgive each other one day.”

 

They look at each other, and for just a little while everything stops. The only thing Woojin registers is his heart beating in his throat, in his ears, and a pair of soft but chapped lips brushing against his own. A whisper of an  _I love you_ getting lost in between them.

 

“I need you to know why I did it,” Jihoon murmurs. “Why I shut you out. We don't want to talk about it, but _please_ ,” he says before Woojin can pull away. He gently cups Woojin’s cheek with his free hand, giving the younger more than enough time to pull away.

 

He doesn’t, and Jihoon kisses him square on the mouth again. Only a second longer, but long enough for Woojin to feel electric. “ _Please_.”

 

Woojin lets him. He lets Jihoon kiss him again and again, and he lets Jihoon hold his hand and he lets his heart break a little because if this is really the only way this can happen, so be it. “Tell me, then,” Woojin hears himself answering. He can’t tell if he’s whispering or yelling, if he sounds angry or constricted or confused.

 

Jihoon looks away from him, then. His eyes stare into nothingness as he chews on his lip. “You deserved something that I couldn’t give you,” he says, and he suddenly sounds completely sober.

 

“And what would that be?” Woojin manages back. He’s surprised he even manages to say anything at all.

 

It’s quiet for a few seconds and Jihoon closes his eyes. When he opens them again, he turns to Woojin and gives him a once over. There is some sort of pain in his gaze, Woojin can tell. The kind that he hasn’t seen before with the other. The kind that contains regret, longing.

 

“Love.”

 

* * *

 

 

Woojin doesn’t know a lot about science. He doesn’t know a lot about anatomy, about the way things should logically go and feel and work and function. The things he learns in his lectures never go _that_ far.

 

He wonders if it’s possible for a heart to literally break in half.

 

They don’t talk about the things that need to be said. Woojin doesn’t bring it up and he’d like to believe Jihoon was too tipsy to remember.

 

Consciously he knows it’s possible because memories are a fickle thing, specifically with alcohol involved. Jihoon is a smart one though, and he doesn’t forget easily. But he _does_ tend to forget when he drinks.

 

But at the same time, Woojin wouldn't have let Jihoon kiss him if he had really been too drunk to remember. He would never take advantage of that.

 

It doesn't stop him from feeling terrible when he realizes his stomach is tied in knots just thinking about it, when he realizes he might be hoping that maybe Jihoon did forget after all.

 

But either way, Jihoon doesn’t bring it up. Doesn’t slide up next to him as Woojin is watching the dishes and says, _hey, so we kissed last night_. It’s not like Woojin expected him to, but it would have been easier.

 

They hadn’t talked about it years ago, so why would they do it now?

 

The atmosphere around them feels eerily familiar, and not in a good way.

 

It’s Woojin covering himself in schedules on purpose. He drags Guanlin to the library to help him study, offers Daniel extra help with the choreography he’s making, even goes out of his way to visit Jaehwan’s busking spot when his classes end at a reasonable time.

 

None of them say anything, and Woojin drowns. When Jihoon mentions he has callbacks for a web drama that he needs to practice for, he just nods and wishes him good luck. He stops waiting up.

 

He knows he doesn’t want to end this with another heartbreak, another loss, another playlist of songs filled with foolish regret, and another door slamming shut just to never be opened again by the person he needs to come back the most.

 

He knows that’s not what he wants. And they had been doing so, so well up until now. They had settled for normalcy, forced it upon themselves so hard that it eventually started _working_. Evenings spent folding laundry together, doing dishes after a meal together, Woojin waking up to the sound of the door opening and greeting Jihoon with matching smiles.

 

Everything is different, but it feels the same. It’s like they haven’t grown at all, yet they’re different people altogether.

 

But Woojin doesn’t want to make the same mistakes. Not when he knows he’s in love with Jihoon. Not when he’s pretty convinced now that Jihoon is in love with him.

 

Love.

 

Love.

 

_Love._

 

And the fact Jihoon had said couldn’t give it to him.


	5. see saw

**see saw  
  
**

_which is right_

_i see or saw you_

_Which is right_

_i love or loved you_

_— gowon, loona_

  


Woojin starts to understand what his friends meant when they called his and Jihoon’s dynamic _explosive_.

 

He’s always known what they were like. He knows their dynamic, their quirks, their scuffles and bickering. But right now, it feels like they’re a literal time bomb. One that is close to exploding, too.

 

It is pretty hard to focus on regular stuff after what happened. This is, well, _bad_ , because at this point in time he has a huge choreography routine he needs to finish by the end of the month and at least two essays he hasn’t properly started on. Not to mention he’s still helping out with Daniel’s and teaching some classes in between it all.

 

And if there’s one thing he’d told himself in the beginning, it’s to not lose himself in all of it. So much for keeping his own resolutions.

 

He stays longer in the dance studio than he needs to. He knows he’s good, he knows people will like what they see, but he keeps practicing. It’s nearing midnight and he’s lying down on the floor, sweat clinging to his forehead and his clothes sticking to his body uncomfortably. He should head home, but something forces him to stay right where he is.

 

To say he’s avoiding Jihoon would only be a partial lie. They still live together, so it’s not like suddenly actively avoiding him when things are seemingly fine is a plan that would actually work out.

 

But he can’t stop thinking about it — can’t stop thinking about him, about _them_ . Jihoon’s words just won’t stop ringing through his head, almost like a mantra, a tune he can’t get rid of. _You wanted something I couldn’t give you_ . Is that what it had been? Is that the reason they fell apart? It couldn’t have been. Not just _that_ , at least. They’d never put a label on what they were, but Woojin never hid that what he felt for Jihoon was more than just ‘friends who kiss each other’ either. And it wasn’t unrequited either, he’s pretty sure of that.

 

So what did Jihoon mean when he said that?

 

Woojin wants answers, but he’s oh so scared of getting them.

 

So he ignores it, forces his focus elsewhere. If he’s dancing, he forgets. But now he’s coming down from an adrenaline high, his breathing has calmed down, and his thoughts are coming in like a heavy tide.

 

He thinks of the last time they’d kissed before everything changed. He thinks of when Jihoon told him he’d gotten his scholarship in the Los Angeles. He thinks of how he congratulated him sincerely but had failed to notice the impending heartbreak in Jihoon’s eyes. He thinks of how they slowly stopped speaking, never explicitly fighting but at the same time not being okay at all.

 

He thinks of the avoiding, the silence, the last time Jihoon’s eyes met his own and there wasn’t a single trace left of the love they had shared before.

 

And he thinks of how he came back, threw Woojin’s life upside down by just being _there_. They were the same Jihoon and the same Woojin but with a two-year gap in between and no answers as to why said gap was there in the first place.

 

It is simple logic, he thinks. Jihoon had gotten too busy, Woojin himself had gotten too busy, and they had to let each other go. But he can’t help but wonder what if he’d held on a little tighter, if they’d talked about things. He never would have held Jihoon back, but it would’ve been nice to at least be _friends_.

 

But the past is irreversible, the future is adjustable.

 

Woojin has to weigh his options carefully. He doesn't know when he realized he’s in love with Jihoon — _still_ in love or in love _again_ , it doesn’t matter. He never truly got over him, but it’s still different than being in love. He can’t deny himself this.

 

And judging by Jihoon’s words, a little tipsy but there nonetheless, it should be mutual. However, shouldn’t they try being friends for a little while first before trying? Should they even try at all, because now that he has Jihoon back in his life he is so, so scared of losing him again.

 

All these things he wants to say, _needs_ to say. All these things he should at least vent to someone about. But he keeps them locked inside his heart, pretends his heart isn’t conflicted, dodges the questions his friends ask, tries to act casual around Jihoon, still tries his best to not undo the process they made together.

 

Because despite all the feelings and confusion, Jihoon being back just made him settle on one conclusion only: he’d rather have Jihoon, in whatever limbo they’re stuck in but in his life nonetheless, than not at all.

 

In the end, he finds himself lying on Jinyoung’s bed as the younger sits on his desk, Daehwi leaning against the doorway. “So what you’re saying is that you kissed? He kissed you? You kissed him?”

 

Woojin sighs, covering his face with his arms. “He kissed me and then we just… kept… kissi— but that’s not the problem here!”

 

“Okaaaaay,” Jinyoung says, spinning in his chair. “So, what’s stopping you?”

 

He needs a second to think about it. “Everything?”

 

Daehwi rolls his eyes and clears his throat. Woojin had told them most of what he’s been feeling — the confusion and the anger and the fear. He’d hoped his best friends would be able to at least offer him some advice, but alas. "Jihoon may be impulsive, and a _little_ clueless when he's been drinking, but he knows what he's doing. You know that, right?" Jinyoung says.

 

He nods.

 

“Okay, so you can pretend Jihoon isn’t tearing you apart and let yourself suffer. _Or_ you can figure out what is it you really want. _Or_ you can _,_ you know, talk to him? _”_ Daehwi chimes in.

 

At his desk, Jinyoung rolls his eyes. “Just kiss him and see what happens.”

 

No matter how appealing it sounds, it’s the worst idea he’s ever heard.

 

He tells them so. “That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.”

 

“Honestly,” Daehwi chirps, before walking over and sitting down next to Woojin, “I agree with loverboy here.”

 

Jinyoung huffs, and stars bickering with Daehwi about how Woojin should be living his life. In the end, they don’t get a step further, but he decides to just follow his heart.

 

And at this moment, his heart is just not ready yet.

 

He just wonders how long this is going to continue for.

 

The answer turns out to be this: not long at all.

 

* * *

 

 

“Do you believe in timing?” Jihoon asks one evening, roughly a week later. He’s leaning against the open door of the balcony, looking at the overcast sky outside. It’s about to rain soon.

 

Woojin looks up from where he’s sitting at the kitchen table, pen between his fingers and course material spread out in front of him. “I dunno. Depends. Why?”

 

The other shrugs, casting one last look at the skyline of the city before he turns and faces Woojin. “I’m just thinking about stuff.”

 

Woojin hums in acknowledgment, but returns his attention back to his books.

 

Silence falls over them, but Jihoon apparently isn’t done just yet. “What do you think things would be like if I didn’t get the overseas scholarship?”

 

A thousand thoughts race through Woojin’s mind is a mere second. He wonders, too. But instead of properly answering what he really thinks, he shrugs again. “I don’t know, Jihoon. Maybe you’d be with an agency here, then?”

 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant… It’s just…” Jihoon fumbles with his words, but doesn’t seem to find the right things to say. Woojin looks at the other boy curiously and watches as he falls silent, the hint of _stress_ evident in his eyes. Nervousness, he notes, from the way he’s chewing on his bottom lip.

 

It hangs in the air, unspoken but endlessly thought about. _It’s about us_. Woojin knows that’s what he’d wanted to say, he’s pretty sure of that. But he decides to just give him a small smile before turning back to the course material on the table in front of him.

 

The other boy takes a seat at the opposite side of the table, and looks at him for a long moment. Feeling his eyes on him, Woojin tries his best not to flinch under his gaze, tries to keep his eyes on his books even though he’s long stopped reading. Jihoon has always been stubborn, and this time Woojin doesn’t feel like he can run away when it comes down to it.

 

He doesn’t know how much later Jihoon says the words that make it all come crashing down. All he knows is that the sky is rumbling in the distance, signaling it’s not just rain but a whole storm coming up, and that he feels like all the air in his lungs is being knocked out of him.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me I kissed you the other night?”  

 

It shouldn't be as shocking as it feels. He should have known better.

 

He has two options: tell the truth and potentially fuck it up, or lie and, well, potentially fuck it up as well. He puts his pen down, forces himself to look Jihoon in the eye. “I was going to, I mean that, but I just—” he sighs, takes a deep breath. “It’s hard. I wasn't sure what you knew and I didn't know how to bring it up. I’m sorry.”

 

“Oh, I didn’t, not really. I know I did _something_. I wasn't that drunk, you know." Of course, he knows. He wouldn't have let this happen otherwise. "But it was a little hazy. I was gonna ask but I guess I was smart enough to try and text Jinyoung about it right after. Or, dumb enough, I guess. It didn’t send, though. Lucky you.” There’s a small hint of bitterness in his voice, Woojin notes. He figures it is well-deserved.

 

“What do you remember from that night,” Woojin asks him. He can practically feel it, how he’s pulling his walls up again. How he’s trying to protect himself from Jihoon again. He hadn’t even realized how comfortable it had been between them until this very moment, when the fear everything is falling apart again creeps up on him full-force.

 

It’s quiet for a second. “Everything. I’m pretty sure I remember everything.”

 

Everything? Which means really _everything_. From the hand holding to their kisses to their quiet confessions. If he knows everything, truly, there is only the truth left to tell. So they're really doing this, huh?

 

“Oh.”

 

“Why?” Jihoon asks, then. He seems to surprise himself with how loud his voice sounds, judging by how his eyes widen. He clears his throat and continues, a little softer, yet his temperament unfading. “Why? That’s all I want to know and all I’ve been asking you, Woojin, _why_? It’s not that hard to say ‘ _Hey Jihoon, so about you practically shoving your tongue down my throat the other day’._ It’s not like we haven’t kissed before, you know. And it’s not like we don’t have a lot to talk about in the first place, anyway.”

 

Woojin swallows, feeling cornered and oddly small. “It’s not just that. You did more than just kiss me, Jihoon. You… _said_ things to me. And I needed time to think about it.”

 

It’s Jihoon’s face that falls now. He bites his lip, contemplating. “You could’ve talked to me about them,” he tries weakly.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Of course you don’t,” Jihoon says, rolling his eyes. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for so long, Woojin. So, so long. But every time I did as much as try, you’d come up with something else or avoid it or give me something _vague_ in return. I know we've always done things on intuition but look where that got us. Two years is a very long time, you know.”

 

Woojin just sits there, trying to listen to his own breathing in order to control it. Guilt and anxiety come crashing in on him like ocean waves, and he’s trying to stay afloat through it all.

 

“I need you to know that us falling apart had nothing to do with me going to the States, Woojin,” Jihoon starts after a little moment of thick, heavy silence. “I mean, partially it did, of course. But I just… I didn’t know what to do.”

 

The two boys sit there for a while, silence around them, only to be broken by the soft sound of rain outside. Woojin looks at Jihoon, truly tries to _see_ him, wishes he could understand, wishes he could make Jihoon understand _him_ too.

 

“It’s because I… was having all these feelings and thoughts and I didn’t know what to do. You know that I _love_ you, right? But _fuck_ , Woojin, if I’m not fucking scared.” Jihoon usually doesn’t swear much, so it comes as an unpleasant surprise when he does. It usually means something is _really_ wrong.

 

The other boy’s words reach Woojin, reach his heart, wrap themselves around it and _squeeze_. He feels it all, suddenly — the heartbreak, the anger, the hurt, the _love_. He tries to comprehend, tries to figure out what he’s feeling, what Jihoon is feeling.

 

“You said you did it— that you left because you couldn’t love me, back then. So what changed?” It’s the only thing going through his head now. _You wanted something I couldn’t give you_. “You pulled away when you _knew_ what I felt for you. You’re so big on talking now, but what about back then when all I wanted was to have you back? _So what changed?_ ” He starts feeling ticked off now too. Not quite anger just yet, but disappointment, hurt — feelings he’s buried and kept in the back of his mind after Jihoon had arrived in LA.

 

“Everything changed, Woojin. God fucking damn it. Everything.”

 

“Like what?”

 

Jihoon sighs and drags his hand down his face. “Do you not see it? Two years, Woojin. Two. Years. We both grew up and I just spent two years in America on a damn acting scholarship despite realizing six months in that this isn’t really how I wanted to do things, yet too stubborn to come back because I know I couldn’t fix this. But I realized that I want to, that I _want_ to fix it.”

 

“What are you even saying?”

 

“I didn’t want to go all Hollywood and stuff like that. I _didn’t_. But I went because I thought that was my dream, that it would be okay if I just held on tight and pulled through, but really, I’d rather be here, _home_ , with my friends and family and with _you_. Even if you didn’t want me to be.”

 

At Woojin’s silence, he raises an eyebrow. “What? You think I didn’t know I broke your heart? That you hated me? That I hurt you?”

 

Woojin doesn’t say ‘ _but I wanted you to come home regardless’_ , he doesn’t say ‘ _that’s irrational, because you could have lived without me here just fine’_. Instead, he says: “I hurt you too. And you hated me too.”

 

“You did, and it’s true. But Woojin, we both messed up. We both _keep_ messing up. We’re trying but we’re right back where we left off.” He takes a deep breath, looks Woojin straight into his eyes. “I want you. I’m telling you now because I never did when I should have. That’s what I want in life. Acting, a home, and you. No matter how you’ll have me.”

 

In the distance, lightning tears the sky in half. Thunder rumbles.

 

He can’t breathe. He hears what Jihoon is saying but he’s not truly _hearing_ it — words he’s yearned for all this time, laid out for him on a silver platter, and Woojin cannot take it.

 

“You can’t just say all of this to me and expect me to know what the fuck this is supposed to mean!” he says, feeling his nails dig into his lap, trying to ground himself. “You can’t kiss me when you’re drunk and then act like it was a bad decision yet say you were? are? in love with me.”

 

“I don’t regret kissing you, Woojin. Do you ever get tired of jumping to conclusions all by yourself?” Jihoon snaps back, sparks of ferocity in his eyes.

 

He ignores it. Instead, he rages on. “I spent two years trying to get over you, and I swear I was, but then you just showed up with your stupid backpack and puppy dog face, expecting it to be _fine_!”

 

Before he does something stupid (like get up, reach across the table, kiss Jihoon senseless) or before Jihoon can refute, he jerks up and out of his seat. “I need to breathe, for a moment? I just… I don’t know, Jihoon. I can’t think like this.”

 

The other boy just stares at him, and Woojin tries so hard to ignore that his eyes look glazed over. It pins him down, for a moment, before another wave of anxiety hits him and he walks to the door.

 

“You asked if I believed in timing, right Hoon?” he says, unconsciously letting the old nickname roll off his tongue. He looks at Jihoon, still sitting at his — _their_ — kitchen table, and wonders where it all went wrong. “I guess I do, yeah. I guess maybe ours was just never right.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

The night is long but the morning air is fresh on his cheeks before he knows it. He has no idea how long he’s been walking around.

 

He’s tired, but sleep doesn’t feel like an option right now. He wants to gather his thoughts, wants to figure it out. He wants to go back in time now, more than ever.

 

He wishes it was that easy — that they could just go back to the two boys they used to be: messy and bickering and loud and chaotic but _together_.

 

He feels awful, running from Jihoon. He feels awful about the fact he couldn’t breathe, about how he doesn’t know how to just go back to how it was. He’s never been one to live with regrets, has learned not to. So when he and Jihoon had fallen apart the first time, he’d convinced himself that’s what life is: loving and leaving and letting it pass. Yes, he’d been heartbroken, been angry and sad and _hoping_. But he didn’t want to feel regret, he only wanted to do _better_.

 

But now, now he _does_ feel regret. Now, he finds himself wishing he could go back in time, kiss Jihoon more, love him better, talk to him. Now he wishes that the moment Jihoon had shown up, he _had_ asked why they separated the way they did. Talk it out, turn back time, start again.

 

He can’t, though. So he ran. He’d stayed in the laundry room for a little, wanting to get away but forgetting about the storm until he was already well on his way out. When the rain had stopped, he started walking. To the dance studio, to his uni campus, to any familiar place within reach. The sun is coming up, and Woojin decides he should head back, even if it’s to not worry Jihoon.

 

Hoping the older is sleeping, he quietly pads in. And indeed, he spots the other curled up in a ball on the couch, and he swears Park Jihoon has never looked so small. Guilt kicks him in the stomach, hits him square in the face. It’s quite ironic, considering how the roles were usually reversed. But never in _this_ kind of context.

 

Silently, he drapes a blanket over Jihoon before settling on the other couch in the small room as he looks at the other boy. It’s a lot less comfortable, a lot smaller, but it’ll have to do. He doesn’t know how long he sleeps, but when he wakes up Jihoon is sitting up across from, his face conflicted, the sparkles in his eyes gone.

 

“I’m leaving.”

 

Woojin jolts up quickly. He feels dizzy, but ignores it and tries standing up despite it. “What?”

 

“I just think we did this all wrong. I don’t know how we can fix this, fix us.” He looks apologetic, and if Woojin thought last night was a climax, he was wrong. It feels exactly like it did last time, except now Jihoon’s not leaving to chase his dreams, he’s leaving because he feels like he has to.

 

“Hoon…” Woojin starts, quietly. He reaches out a hand, grasping the thin air between them.

 

The other boy smiles softly, but keeps his distance. “We’re just hurting each other, right? It’s not forever, _Woojinie_ , but I feel like this isn’t good for us. If you love them, let them go, and all that.”

 

It sounds like an excuse, but he feels like he deserves this. Jihoon has hurt him, but Woojin in all his stubborn glory had just made it worse for both of them. And yet, “That’s bullshit, Jihoon.”

 

The other laughs, but it’s a little empty. “I know it is. But, fuck, what was I thinking, right? These feelings I have for you, they never went away. It’s selfish, I know. We just both need to figure this out without breathing down each other’s necks.”

 

Before Woojin can reply or refute, Jihoon stands up and _oh_ , he already has his few belongings back in his bags. The red suitcase again. “Here,” the other boy says, pushing an envelope into Woojin’s hands. “Three months worth of rent and bills and whatnot. I hadn’t paid for those yet. Sorry for overstaying my welcome.”

 

“Jihoon…” Woojin whispers, the guilt that was already building in his stomach kicking in full force.

 

Jihoon just shakes his head and smiles before he walks out.

 

The door clicks shut, and Woojin just sits there, unmoving, trying to comprehend what just happened.

 

Outside, thunder rumbles in the air again, the wind blows against the windows. The city, covered in near darkness. Jihoon and Woojin, feeling miles and miles apart.

 

 _Go after him_ , a voice in his head tells him. _Don’t lose him again._

 

He stays perfectly still.


	6. beautiful

**beautiful**

_this is a song filled with foolish regret_

_i hope it reaches the sky_

_my prayer that keeps me up all night_

_i hope it reaches your heart_

_— wanna one_

  


“Personally,” Minhyun says, “I’m disappointed in you, Woojin.”

 

The older boy had — quite literally — barged into his apartment earlier, armed with some good old _reliable hyung_ wisdom and a spare key Woojin doesn’t even remember giving him. He briefly wonders how many people have access to his apartment at this point.

 

He comes home from dance practice, thankfully for once already showered and not sweaty, to see him sitting on his couch.

 

After the initial shock of seeing someone in his apartment uninvited, Woojin quickly realizes why he’s here. And oh boy, he is absolutely not in the mood for this. “Why though?”  

 

It’s been a good week since Jihoon left. A repeat of history in its entirety, considering his heart is broken just as much as two years ago, combined with the fact he just _let_ Jihoon walk away again.

 

But this time, it wasn’t him leaving on a plane to LA. It was to Minhyun and Seongwoo’s apartment, barely a subway ride away.

 

He finally understands the meaning of _so close but yet so far_.

 

“Let me answer your question with a question: do you really want him to be the one that got away?”

 

So, like he’d already said: not in the mood. “Yeah,” he tries his best to keep his voice neutral, to not snap at Minhyun. And then, bitterness fills him up entirely. “Is he not already?”

 

“You don’t mean that. I know you don’t.”

 

Woojin says nothing for a moment, instead finally taking off his shoes and dropping his bag. He takes a second to think, even though him and Minhyun both know the answer. Jihoon had said it himself, hadn’t he? _This isn’t forever,_ _this isn’t like the last time_. So why does it feel so damn familiar, like they’d both run out of chances with each other?

 

Yet, he pulls out his dirty dancing attire from his bag, puts it in the laundry basket for later, and says, “I don’t know.”

 

It’s been a week. Almost a week and a half, to be more precise. He hasn’t heard from Jihoon, aside from what Jinyoung and Minhyun and, surprisingly, Seongwoo have been telling him. Woojin himself had taken that time to 1) get drowned in his studies and 2) basically start living at the dance studio. How eerily familiar.

 

In fact, the only reason he’s even _home_ now is because Daniel had been two seconds away from actually throwing his bag into Woojin’s face and physically kicking him out of the building. _“I’ll take over your classes and I’ve rescheduled your practice for Saturday. If Sungwoon sees you even near campus today he’s morally obliged to kick your ass, just so you know. So go home, rest. Promise me. ”_

 

Hence, here he is, with the one and only Hwang Minhyun sitting in front of him. He suddenly notices the older had even made himself a cup of tea before he’d gotten here.

 

They’d probably planned this. What the fuck.

 

“Do you want him or not? Do you see yourself with literally anyone else?”

 

“Is this an intervention or something?” Woojin looks up, staring at Minhyun who is just sitting there casually as if he’s not berating Woojin on his, admittedly, very bad emotionally-influenced life choices.

 

Minhyun just raises an eyebrow. “Be happy it is me. Seongwoo and Jaehwan went to talk to Jihoon.”

 

The younger pads to the kitchen, takes the water left in the kettle, and pours himself his own cup. The weather is a bit too hot for tea, he thinks, but if their current predicament seems to call for it, then so be it.

 

He doesn’t say anything until he’s seated on the couch opposite of Minhyun’s, much like how he and Jihoon had been seated the last time they’d spoken.

 

“No?” he whispers after a while. He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a question, but he supposes it can’t be helped when he’s unsure about, well, _everything_. “I… I don’t… uh… see myself with anyone else.”

 

The older hums and takes another sip. “Then what the are you still doing here?”

 

“He needed time to think. We both did. What if I fuck it up all over again?”

 

“Mistakes go both ways. You both fucked up and faced the consequences. The problem here is that you know each other too well.”

 

This confuses Woojin, throws him a little off guard. He has no idea what to make of it. “What does that even mean? I feel like… he’s _Jihoon_ but it’s not the same.”

 

“That’s the thing, isn’t it?” Minhyun answers. “You two got so used to each other that you just stopped communicating. All these silent, unspoken promises — it’s bad, you know?”

 

“I don’t follow,” Woojin says earnestly. He looks at Minhyun, looks at the barely hidden pained expression on his face.

 

“Woojin, look. You and Jihoon know each other so well that you go around and assume stuff about each other like it’s nothing. You _assumed_ he didn’t want you when he started pulling away from you so you became distant as well, because he _assumed_ you were gonna break his heart. Even when you started dating — _don’t give me that look_ — you never talked about your feelings.”

 

Minhyun has a point. He really does. And yet, “That’s just. Not how we worked.”

 

It’s the truth, but he sees what Minhyun wants to tell him. Jihoon and him have always worked on intuition, neither of them being particularly good with, well, _words_ . Jihoon has always been a quiet force, clear but silent. Woojin, no matter how energetic, loud, chaotic he gets, has never been one to be open when it got extremely personal. Especially not when it came to _them_ . He guesses what he felt —  _feels —_  for Jihoon falls under that category, too.

 

“See. And that’s how you fell apart. Same scenario this time,” Minhyun continues. Woojin thinks he might start to get it, and something knots in his stomach. “Did you and him even talk about stuff before you ended up blowing up at each other? Or did you just continue to let misunderstandings pile up until neither of you could breathe?”

 

Woojin doesn’t know what to say to that. But silence is a good answer, he figures, judging by how Minhyun hums.

 

He takes a long gulp from his cup, before putting it down. He studies Woojin for a moment tries to calculate what to say next. “Just look at Seongwoo and I,” he says eventually, “We know each other. We’ve known each other for so long that we also sometimes think we know what the other wants. And then stuff doesn’t go according to plan and it all blows up.”

 

Leaning over so his elbows rest on his knees, he sighs deeply. “We’ve been there, Woojin. Communication is key.”

 

It’s clear what Minhyun is getting at. He knows, he’s always _known_ that whatever happened between Woojin and Jihoon had been avoidable, and pretty much all of their friends have told them this.

 

“We think we know someone so well that the moment something happens against your expectations they seem like a complete stranger. That’s why you should talk about it. Should _have_ talked about it the moment you opened that door for him.”

 

And yet, instead of doing better, instead of welcoming the second chance Jihoon gave both of them with open arms, they just made the same mistakes all over again. It wasn’t rocket science, just history repeating itself.

 

“Aren’t you tired of running?”

 

Tired? Tired is an understatement.

 

* * *

 

Woojin lets it linger for another few days, the conversation with Minhyun being both heartbreakingly discouraging yet giving him an odd sense of newfound hope. He knows what to do, he _knows_ , but it’s harder than he thought.

 

Yet, he waits, just to give Jihoon some time.

 

He keeps thinking of what to say, mulls over words and possibilities.

 

But he also knows time might be running out. If they keep pushing and pulling any longer, Jihoon might slip from his grasp for good before he knows it.

 

Daehwi texts him one evening, two days after Minhyun came to see him. “ _Hyung_ ,” it reads, “ _I know I haven’t always been fair about Jihoon. But I can forgive him if you can forgive yourself first.”_

 

He smiles. “ _Will do, Hwi. Thank you and I’m sorry. To Jinyoungie too.”_

 

The younger sends him a string of emojis back — hearts and smileys and somehow a light bulb and an eggplant too, which Woojin chooses to ignore. He blankly stares at his phone screen for a moment with the ghost of a smile on his lips before he decides that it’s not just about forgiving himself, but also about forgiving Jihoon, and letting them both grow from this. So he opens up a new message, types in Jihoon’s contact, and says: “ _I miss you. I’ve missed you for a very long time. Can we talk?_ ”

 

It’s how he finds Jihoon in front of his door the next afternoon. It’s raining again, almost like an omen. The older shakes his umbrella, puts it down on the floor next to the coating rack. He takes his shoes off, puts his jacket where he always hangs it up. It’s like he just came home.

 

It’s a tense atmosphere, but for the first time in a long time, Woojin is hopeful.

 

He thinks of where to start, of _how_ to start. He looks at Jihoon, standing there in the middle of his living room, trying not to meet Woojin’s eyes.

 

“How are you?” Woojin says casually.

 

“I’m okay, I think,” the other boy answers, before taking a deep breath. Apparently, he’s not here for small talk. “Did you mean what you said in that text?”

 

Woojin smiles, fiddles with the hem of his shirt. “I did. I did mean it.”

 

“You said it was hard,” Jihoon swallows, “To be friends with me.” For a brief second, there is a hint of thinly veiled anger in his voice, as well as confusion. As if he’s been holding back as much as Woojin has, maybe for longer than Woojin even realizes. "You said that but you still let me kiss you."

 

No. No no no no, _no_ . He should have known it would come to this eventually. “Jihoon,” Woojin says, gently reaching for the other’s face. “I didn’t mean it. Not like that, at least. It’s hard to be _just_ friends with you.”

 

The older scoffs. “Isn’t that the same thing?”

 

“It isn’t. Jihoon… don’t you see?”

 

The other boy blinks at him, a little confused. But Woojin goes on. He has to. He’s started now, so he can’t stop. “I love you. I love you even after everything. I’m sorry I never told you.”

 

In this small apartment room, somewhere in the middle of Seoul, the entire city covered in rain but bustling around them nonetheless, Woojin wears his heart on his sleeve.

 

“But I just thought you didn’t want me,” he continues, voice quiet but carrying enough power to get his point across. “I just thought maybe we weren’t meant to be? You were going off to do great things, and I was so proud of you. I still am.” He ignores the way Jihoon’s breath hitches, the way the older boy balls his hand into a fist for just a second. “And I was doing my own thing, too. I just thought maybe we grew apart, but by the time I'd realized we both just pulled away, that we just let it happen, it was too late.”

 

Jihoon, as Woojin has known him, is a careful person. He is someone who builds walls around him, meters upon meters of _hiding._ He’s careful with what he lets slip, every move calculated. “I got scared. I got scared because it was like suddenly we didn’t know each other anymore. And instead of talking about it, I just thought it was safer to let it happen.”

 

And then, softer, “We were younger and more foolish. But I don’t want to make the same mistakes again. I can’t do that to you. We can’t do that to each other.”

 

“And you don’t have to. Mistakes are there to learn from, no?”

 

He only used to let these walls fall either when he’s drunk, when he’s with someone he trusts, or when he’s truly, terribly upset. Woojin hadn’t seen this in years; how Jihoon’s resolve crumbles right in front of him, how his anger turns into sadness and hurt. Years and years of pent-up feelings they never got rid of or talked about.

 

Jihoon finally moves from where he’s been standing, taking a few careful steps towards Woojin. "Why didn't we talk about this the day I got here? It was stupid and reckless and now here we are."

 

Woojin just swallows. "Feigning normalcy?" He lets out a dejected laugh. "More than anything I just wanted my friend back. I guess that didn't go as planned."

 

The older boy across from him gulps, but he nods. "Me too," he admits, before taking another step closer. They're almost close enough to touch now. "It was a risk, coming back here, back to you, but I had to try."

 

“I just want to know,” the younger says, “what you want. You told me, the other day, but I need to hear it. I need to know. I gotta know what you want  _now_. ”

 

He remembers the words all too clear, even though back then they were clouded through Woojin’s own emotional conflict. _Acting, a home, and you._

 

It’s exactly what Jihoon tells him as he takes another step closer, and then another one, and another one — until they're nearly chest to chest. "And what about you?"

 

Woojin swallows, takes a deep breath, smiles wide enough to tell Jihoon that he _means this_. "You. dancing, a home, but mostly you."

 

They look at each other. Jihoon licks his lips.

 

Woojin leans in to kiss him first, this time.

 

Jihoons meets him halfway.

 

It feels familiar, their lips pressing against each other. It’s better than Woojin remembers it being, because this time, he feels like it’s _love_. Jihoon isn’t tipsy, Woojin isn’t anxious. It feels like the first time all over again, three years ago, like hope and butterflies.

 

Jihoon puts his hands on Woojin’s shoulders, gently pushes him until the other falls back on the couch. He falls down and Jihoon follows, straddles him, takes advantage of Woojin’s gasp to deepen the kiss.

 

Woojin thinks he must be seeing fireworks when Jihoon kisses him like that, gently tugging at his bottom lip with his teeth and smiling when he groans in response. The older boy’s hands are on his face, gently rubbing circles with his thumbs over his cheeks. Woojin lets his hands roam, lets himself hold Jihoon the way he’s subconsciously wanted to for years, no holding back this time.

 

He’s missed this, but he guesses it was worth the wait. He relishes in it, the feeling of Jihoon on top of him, of their kisses switching between gentle and rough.

 

When Jihoon pulls back to look at him, an infinite amount of time later yet too early, he’s smiling. It hits Woojin, then, how ridiculously perfect they fit together.

 

“Hey,” he says sheepishly, and Jihoon laughs, briefly resting his hands on Woojin’s chest.

 

“Hello there.”

 

“Is this okay?” Woojin asks as he takes both of Jihoon’s hands in his own, entwines their fingers. They look at each other for a moment, before Jihoon nods his head fondly and kisses him again.

 

“More than okay.”

 

They kiss for a while longer, losing track of time. Woojin feels the fire in his stomach when Jihoon subconsciously rolls his hips. “Hoon,” he says, breaking apart again. He feels like a teenager asking this, but if they’re going to _talk_ about things from now on, he might as well start now. “What are we?”

 

“We can be whatever we want to be,” Jihoon says after thinking about it for a moment, before nipping at Woojin’s lips.

 

“Wait... Jihoon,” Woojin says, but he’s smiling, “We can’t just say we need to start talking about things and then go straight to making out without _actually_ talking!”

 

“I want to be with you the way we couldn’t be last time, isn’t that clear enough?”

 

It is. Very much so. Clear as day, and yet Woojin suddenly feels a bit of worry creep up on him. “Yeah.” He brings their interlocked hands to his mouth, presses a brief kiss on Jihoon’s knuckles. “I just. I don’t want us to fall apart again. You know we’ll get busy and we have our own things to do and I just… I don’t want to get lost in that and not find you again.”

 

Rationality is not always Woojin’s forte. It’s not always easy for him to think straight. No pun intended. But Jihoon is here, in his arms, a whole history behind them and a future of uncertainty ahead. But there is hope, because there is what he believes is love.

 

“You won’t. Last time I was scared. I think we were both scared, but now I’m not.” He pecks Woojin’s lips again. He can get used to this. “Are you?”

 

“I’m not,” Woojin answers earnestly, staring at Jihoon’s face for a moment too long. He realizes it’s the truth. He feels safe, _fearless_. Like it’s going to be okay.

 

It _is_ going to be okay, because Jihoon will still leave his wet towels on the bathroom floor, Woojin will still yell too loud when they’re playing video games. Jihoon will still come home from auditions and rehearsals late and Woojin will still fuck up his neck by falling asleep on the couch. They’ll still bicker over what to get for dinner, brush their teeth side by side in the mornings, and Jihoon will still get frustrated having to drag Woojin back from the dance studio after he’s spent too much time in there. But it’s okay, because _they_ ’re okay.

 

 

* * *

 

Jihoon gets his first big role a few months later, around the same time Woojin gets asked to choreograph for one of the industry's biggest entertainment companies. Daehwi and Jinyoung call it fate, Seongwoo smiles and calls it rigged. Minhyun just congratulates them.

 

“I’m sorry you’re stuck with me,” Woojin whispers one night, carding his hands through Jihoon’s hair as they’re both slowly drifting off to sleep.

 

They hadn’t seen each other much lately, with Woojin’s dance-related responsibilities and studies demanding his constant attention and Jihoon spending a lot of time on set. But at the end of the day, they get to come home to each other, share their worries with each other, resolve any sort of tension that comes with the distance between them. It's a learning process, with ups and downs. But as passes by, it gets easier. It gets better.

 

The population of Seoul is approximately 9,798,000 people. Over 9.5 million lives, stories, wishes, and dreams.

 

It’s a busy place. A city with a history, with tales ending both good and bad. With stories of falling apart and coming back together.

 

_It’s easy to be forgotten in a place like this._

 

“Oh no,” Jihoon laughs, and moves his leg on top of Woojin’s for more comfort, “ _you’re_ the one who is stuck with _me_.”

 

_It’s easy to get lost._

 

He’s glad that, even after everything, they still found each other again. He’s glad that, even after everything, he knows they always will.

 

  
_fin_.

**Author's Note:**

> so you've reached the ending! first and foremost, thank you so much reading! ♡  
> big BIG thank you to everyone who's been here to witness my struggles writing this and kicked my ass to continue, but especially to [jenny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/leeminhyuk) who has been here through every possible draft and mental breakdown. i love you so much.
> 
> feedback and (constructive) criticism is always welcome and greatly appreciated! ♡  
> i have a [writing account](https://twitter.com/bunssos) now!  
> but feel free to hmu on my [multifandom twt](https://twitter.com/mijoo) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/littleheavens) as well! ;-) ♡


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